Page 103 of Playing to Win

After a few moments of tense silence, Andrew said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Colin kept his eyes on the horizon as the bridge’s suspension cables whizzed past him in the foreground. “People at the bottom, like me and the Hendersons, we’re not asking to live in luxury. We just want to stop being afraid.”

He shut up then, knowing he must seem pathetic. But if he couldn’t be pathetic with Andrew, there wasn’t much point in being in love with him.

Andrew took Colin’s hand again—softly this time, with no patronizing squeeze or words of false hope. He simply held onto it as he drove, the passing bridge lights flashing golden over his sad, pensive face.

Colin closed his eyes and savored Andrew’s silent presence. For now, it was all he really needed.

= = =

Andrew’s Starbucks order confirmed Colin’s suspicion that his boyfriend had barely slept last night.

“Venti French roast, no room for milk, please.”

“Hardcore, you.” Colin ordered his usual English Breakfast tea with milk and sugar. “A table outside just cleared. I’ll get it.” He hurried away, ignoring Andrew’s protests.

Settling in at a table beside Buchanan Street’s bustling pedestrian section, Colin noticed he did feel strangely exposed. Crowds had never bothered him before.

Though Colin and Andrew wouldn’t see each other for ten days—when the world would be different no matter the referendum’s result—they’d not made love upon returning to the flat late last night. Andrew had claimed he just wanted to sleep, but from what Colin could tell, he’d stayed awake most of the night, sitting up in bed with his laptop. When asked what he was working on, Andrew had mumbled something about “the future” and angled the screen away from Colin’s eyes.

Andrew arrived with their coffees and breakfast wraps. Colin tore off the wrapper and tucked in, too hungry to worry about how quiet his boyfriend remained. As he ate, he watched a busker set up her amp, mike, and guitar case outside the Apple Store across the street.

After several half-hearted bites, Andrew set down his own wrap. “I feel I should say something.”

Colin stopped chewing, the eggs and sausage turning to sawdust in his mouth. Was Andrew having second thoughts about them? Did Colin’s rough edges suddenly seem less attractive, seen through the eyes of Lord and Lady Kirkross?

No. He had to have faith, had to stop jumping to catastrophic conclusions every time Andrew turned serious.

Colin swallowed his food past the lump in his throat. “What is it?”

“I’ve put you in an awful position.” Andrew tore off a corner of his wrap, frowning at it instead of eating it. “Facing all that wrath from my family, not to mention Twitter.”

Colin shrugged. He’d stopped reading the replies after the first half-dozenrent boycomments.

“I was dreadfully naive,” Andrew continued. “I underestimated the forces against us. You didn’t sign up for this.” He sighed. “So I wanted to say I’m sorry, and that if you’d prefer to—to leave me before things gets worse, I’ll understand. But I really…” Andrew’s fingers trembled on the lid of his coffee cup. “I really, truly hope you prefer to stay.”

“Okay, listen.” Colin took a long sip of tea to clear his voice. “I’ve been hurt a lot in my life and still survived. Nothing your family or the bellends on Twitter say could ever cut like my mum’s words, or those bullies at school.” He put his hand on the back of Andrew’s chair and leaned closer. “The haters cannae cut me down, cos now I know what I’m worth. And that’s partly because of you.”

Slumped over his food and coffee, Andrew gave him a smile, its brilliance only marginally diminished by his exhaustion. “Thank God. I thought for sure these last twelve hours would’ve sent you running.”

“Too late for that, mate. You wanted all of me. Now you’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Damn,” Andrew’s mouth said, even as his eyes said the opposite. Then he looked past Colin and his smile vanished. “Damn,” he said again, this time clearly meaning it.

Colin turned to see a photographer standing about ten yards away, not far from the busker, who was scowling at the interloper as she tuned her guitar.

The man lowered his giant camera with its long lens, grinning triumphantly. “First photo of you two since the big retweet,” the photographer shouted, giving them a thumbs-up. “I’ll make a fortune!”

Clenching his fist, Colin turned back to Andrew. “Shall I kill him for you?”

“No.”

“Then shall I put my tongue down your throat and give him a better pic? Maybe he’s got weans at home need fed.”

Andrew chuckled. “Tempting, but no. Best to ignore the paparazzi and accept they’re a part of our lives now. There’s no escape.” He took a long sip of coffee and stared across the street with a look of dull despair. “Unless we move to America.”

“Aye, right, we’ll just do that then. Problem solved.” Colin started eating again, his appetite fully restored.

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